


What Still Remains

by thedevilchicken



Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: Alcohol, Antagonism, Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: "You look well, James," Niki says."You look fucking awful," James replies.Or: Niki and James meet unexpectedly after Niki wins his third world championship. They have some unfinished business to attend to.





	What Still Remains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



He wasn't expecting to see him here tonight, but here he is. 

James, even now, is still the life of any party. He was dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room when Niki first walked in, thirty minutes ago, and he was still there twenty minutes later, as an endless stream of well-wishers shook Niki by the hand and congratulated him on winning his third world championship. He was more or less civil to them all but his attention was divided because James was twenty feet away, dancing barefoot in the high class London hotel's ballroom like that's something people do, like it's still the 70s and not coming to the close of 1984. 

Then the latest song ended and James meandered off the dancefloor with a half-drunk smile on his face over the top of the flush of exertion. There was a woman on his arm - not the one that he'd started with, blonde instead of brunette - and he stopped at the first table he came to to drink a full glass of champagne in one deep gulp. It was a glass that Niki wasn't actually sure belonged to him, and it was probably just the latest in a very long line of other glasses he'd drunk from that night, but that's just the way James is. It always was. 

Putting the glass back down was when he spotted Niki. His smile changed; it brightened and Niki hates that he felt himself brightening along with it. When he's not infuriating, that's also how James always is. Even after all this time has passed, it's still Niki's immediate, inevitable reaction to him. Fortunately, he thinks, their paths cross less frequently these days than they ever used to. He'd like to believe he believes that, at least.

"Excuse me," James said to the girl, who didn't seem impressed at the abrupt abandonment, then he walked straight across the room with an alcohol swagger. "Excuse me," he said again, to the people Niki was speaking with, before he planted one hand at the small of Niki's back and then steered him away. Niki let him, stopping only to retrieve James's shoes as they made their swift exit. The event might miss them, Niki thought, but he knew it would continue without them. There were other drivers. There were other champions. Niki Lauda and James Hunt could probably be spared.

They went upstairs, to Niki's hotel room. That's where they are now, though he wishes he'd shown more resolve or more self-restraint. 

He should have known better, he thinks. Of course, he should have known better right from the start.

\---

He received the invitation in early November. 

Initially, he believed he wouldn't attend. He thinks he still believed that until the moment he was walking through the door of Hesketh's palatial old house, tucked away somewhere in the English countryside that took far too long for him to drive to from his meeting in central London. Until that point, he was still telling himself he'd flown to England to attend a business meeting. Of course, the meeting had ended at half past ten and he arrived at the party at close to one o'clock the following morning. He could have returned by Italy by then, including the flight itself and all required transfers. He could have been asleep in his own bed and not walking into an English aristocrat's dreadful country house.

The gates to the lengthy driveway were open when he arrived. The front door was open, too. There was the sort of popular music wafting through the air from an unseen player that Niki disliked gratingly and discarded glasses littered every flat surface he passed by. The people there were in various stages of undress, shirts abandoned, girls with dresses peeled down to their waists and wandering room to room in knee boots and lingerie. Walking around, Niki knew he should turn back and leave, but he was so irritated by his lengthy drive in the dark with a faulty torch and a decades-old roadmap that he was resolved to find James Hunt and do something that may or may not have involved the words _thank you_ , but probably not. He couldn't even say why he was there in the first place. He hadn't meant to go.

So, he searched. A drunk, barefoot girl tried to drag him onto the dancefloor; James was not there and he couldn't say he felt like dancing anyway. A trio of Hesketh mechanics asked him drunkenly what he was doing there; he left them in no uncertainty that it was none of their business, and didn't say he'd received a written invitation from James Hunt. Bubbles Horsley offered him a drink; he declined and asked if he'd seen James. He said _try upstairs, that's where he usually ends up_ , so he tried upstairs, up the grand, sweeping staircase and down the corridor. 

There were people in the bedrooms. It was apparently _that_ kind of party and there was James Hunt, behind the third door that he opened, in bed with a man that Niki didn't know. The first two fingers of James's right hand were knuckle-deep inside him, moving lazily, or they were until the man shot from the bed as if a fire had broken out. 

"I thought you said everyone knew not to walk in," he said, accusingly. 

James shrugged. "He's never been to one of these before," he replied, which didn't seem to appease his partner. The man - tall, rail-thin, faintly familiar though Niki couldn't say how - quickly pulled on his clothes as he swore under his breath and then he left, slamming the door behind him. 

"Did you invite me here to make me scandalised?" Niki asked, as James lay there exactly where he had been before, naked on the bed. 

"I don't know, are you scandalised?" he replied.

"No, not particularly."

"Then assume that's not why I invited you."

Of course, Niki's experience of James Hunt didn't exactly lend itself to that kind of belief. After all, he'd spent an uncomfortable night at James's flat back in Formula 3; he'd been stranded in London with nowhere else to stay and James had offered his spare room, but then he'd come home with two very pretty air hostesses. Niki remembered being grateful for the fact he'd turned off the light by the time James came in naked, past midnight, and asked him to join them. He'd said no, but then he'd listened. He'd said no, but he'd still pushed one hand inside his underwear and come in his borrowed bed listening to James having sex. He'd said no, but he'd thought about it more than once in the years that had followed. James had that effect and Niki was sure he wasn't the only one he'd had that effect on.

Perhaps that was why he was there, he thought. Perhaps the two of them finding their way onto the grand prix circuit had triggered something he'd thought he'd left behind. Perhaps he was just frustrated, or perhaps he'd wanted to fuck James Hunt since the first time they'd met, even if he'd wanted to hit him three minutes after that.

"I'm sorry, did I spoil your fun?" Niki asked. 

James shrugged, then he turned onto his side with his head propped up on one hand. There were two empty glasses on the cabinet by the bed next to two empty champagne bottles and the flush on his face said he was pleasantly drunk. 

"No," he replied. "We might have had sex a bit later but to be honest, he was boring my tits off."

Niki frowned. "Doesn't what you were doing count?" 

"As sex?" James smiled. "Around here, that's just a bit of light conversation." 

Niki looked at him lying there. Niki raised his brows. When he thought about it, his career so far had been a series of calculations, risk versus reward; he could see the risks in this situation clearly, but at that moment he believed the potential for reward outweighed them. At least it seemed like his desire for that reward outweighed the potential consequence of failure.

"If you didn't invite me here for scandal, did you invite me here for _conversation_?" he asked, carefully, meaningfully.

James's smile didn't dim and it didn't falter, but Niki could see how he sobered underneath it. He could see him thinking, perhaps not calculating the way that Niki always did himself, but he gave it a moment's drunk consideration. 

"Yes," he said. 

Niki turned away and James said, "So why did you ask if you were just going to leave?" but Niki turned the key in the lock and rested his forehead down against the door as his pulse started to race. 

"Does that answer your question?"

"Oh," James replied. "That makes sense. We wouldn't want anyone walking in on us in flagrante."

" _In flagrante_?"

"It means--"

"I know what it means." 

"Then why did you ask?"

Niki turned back around to face him. "Touch yourself," he said. 

James raised his brows. "That's not an answer," he said, but he started walking two fingers down his chest, ridiculously. "So, you like to watch?" Do you like what you see?"

"Yes," Niki replied, curtly. He crossed his arms over his chest and James's bravado seemed to sink through the floor. His fingers stopped somewhere low over his abdomen. He frowned.

"You know, I thought you'd be more embarrassed by that."

"Why? Don't people usually find you attractive?"

"Well, yes."

"Then why would I be different from them?"

"Come on, Niki. You're _always_ different."

"You're talking quite a lot. I didn't think we would have a real conversation."

James sighed dramatically. He moved his hand down, no more theatrics, and he took his cock in it. He stroked, slowly, with a gratifying blush. 

"Alright. But don't think I usually go around pleasuring myself in front of strange men at the drop of a hat."

"Am I a strange man?"

James lay back, freeing up the arm he'd been leaning on. It went down, too, squeezing his balls. 

"Well, you're not exactly a normal one," he said, glancing over at him. "A normal one would be in bed with me by now." 

"Is that what you want, James?" Niki asked. "Do you want to have sex with me?" He waved his hand at what James's hands were doing. "Do you want me to sit on your cock?"

"Do _you_ want to?"

"I asked you first."

"Are you twelve years old?" James sighed exasperatedly. "Yes. I want you to. I didn't come here for the country air."

"You want me to do what?"

"You know what."

"I would like you to say it."

James sighed again, but he didn't stop what he was doing. "I want you to sit on my cock, Niki," he said, sounding less than enthusiastic about having to say it out loud, but it sent a shiver of something through Niki nonetheless. He wondered what might have happened if he'd said yes that night back in Formula 3. He wondered if he'd have had sex with an air hostess or a racing driver.

"Later, perhaps," he said. "First, I want to watch you."

James scowled, but he didn't stop. "Bastard," he said, and he glared, but he still didn't stop.

James groaned, frustrated, but he _definitely_ didn't stop. He reached over to the cabinet by the bed for a tube of lubricant and he squeezed some of it out onto his palm, then stroked himself with it. When he groaned again, it wasn't from frustration. It was definitely from something else.

Niki watched. He leaned against the door with his hands tucked in at the small of his back, feigning nonchalance, and he watched James lying there, touching himself. His thighs were spread wide and his knees were hitched up just an inch or two to brace his heels against the mattress, one hand at his cock and the other tight around his balls. He stroked himself, the faint slick sound of lubricant on skin in Niki's ears, and he could feel himself starting to stiffen in response. And when he glanced up at James's face, James was looking at him, staring at him, infuriating blue eyes fixed on him from his flustered face. James groaned. Niki's face flushed hotly. When James came, a minute later, maybe two, his breath hitching, his hips bucking up, Niki was watching the look on his face and not his hands. 

"Are you going to join me now?" James asked, his voice not entirely steady. 

"Not until you clean yourself," Niki replied. 

"I didn't realise you were afraid to get a bit dirty, Mr Lauda," James said, but he pulled himself up from the bed anyway and he wandered naked into the en suite bathroom, turning back at the door. "Are you going to join me?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Spoilsport," he said, and disappeared inside.

When he returned, he was towelling his hair dry, still naked. Niki was sitting in a chair across the room, fully clothed, wishing away his erection without an iota of success. 

"Now?" James said. 

"It's late," Niki replied. 

"Are you kidding? The party's barely even started."

"It's late," Niki said again, insistently. "I had a long flight and a very long drive and I want to sleep now."

James tossed the damp towel at him. Niki caught it and threw it back; James dodged and they both left it where it landed on the floor. 

"Well, we can probably find you a room that's not occupied."

"I thought I'd stay here."

"This is _my_ room."

"Yes, I know."

James raised his brows. "Well, then," he said, and he stretched himself out on the bed, nude, and he patted the space beside him. "You'd best make yourself comfortable."

Niki did exactly that. The bed wasmore than big enough for both of them.

He woke James up in the morning, maybe six hours later but not much more. Niki put one of his hands on him as he lay there on his side with his head propped up on the other, then he threw the sheets back to better see what he was doing; he ran one hand down James's chest, over his abdomen, wrapped his fingers around his cock, and James mumbled something incomprehensible as he started to harden against Niki's palm. James's eyes opened, lazily, then he frowned and focused on him. 

"Niki?" he said.

"Are you surprised I'm here?"

"I must have been very drunk last night."

"You don't remember?"

"Oh, I remember. I just can't quite believe it." He glanced down at Niki's hand around his erection, still stroking him despite the conversation. "Or maybe I can, under the circumstances."

Niki picked up the lubricant from the bedside cabinet. He squeezed a generous amount out of it over his fingers and then he rubbed it over him; James shifted, edging his thighs apart, and flexed his hips up experimentally. 

"You know, I'm not so hungover that I don't remember what you made me ask you to do last night," James said. 

"Do you think you deserve points for remembering this?"

"I think I deserve a bit more than a furtive early-morning handjob, yes."

"Do I seem furtive to you?"

"No, now that you mention it." James narrowed his eyes slightly. "What exactly are you planning?"

Niki stood. He took off his vest and his underwear followed and James's brows edged higher and higher as he watched him. Then Niki went back to the bed and he straddled James's thighs. 

"Oh," James said, as Niki reached back and guided the tip of James's cock straight up to his hole. "You were serious about that."

"You weren't?"

"Of course I was," James replied. "I never joke about sex. I just didn't think you were."

Niki sat back. Niki pushed against him - he felt the slick tip of James's cock against him, pushing into him, uncomfortable but not quite painful, and he couldn't help but think it was very much worth the surprise on James's face as he did so. 

"Do I feel serious?" 

James nodded stiffly. "Yes," he said. "And tight. Anyone would think you'd never done this before."

Niki shifted, his fingertips still at James's cock as he guided it in. "I haven't."

"Not ever?"

"No, never."

"You're joking."

"Why would I joke about this?" Niki settled down lower, his thighs straining. "There is a first time for everything, yes? Before last month, I had never been a champion of the world. Before today, I had never had sex with a man. Next, I do something else that's new. Do you want me to stop?"

James seemed to consider this for a moment, or at least he pretended to but the answer was already clear. "Well, when you put it like that...not really," he said. 

James's hands came up and moved over Niki's thighs, up to squeeze at his hips. His face was flushed and his hair was splayed ridiculously over the pillow and when he reached one hand up to grip a slat in the headboard, Niki's eyes followed the curve of his bicep and he wondered if this was how all the others saw him: man first and driver second. James braced his heels against the mattress and he pulled hard at the headboard so he could push up with his hips and Niki's breath caught as James pushed in deeper. It was good, the physical pleasure of it radiating through him, and the way James was looking at him said it felt good to him, too. 

"Do you want me to..." James said, gesturing at Niki's cock. 

Niki nodded. "Yes," he replied, absolutely certain that he wanted exactly that, and James wrapped his fingers around him. Niki braced his hands against his own thighs and he shifted steadily, riding him slowly as James stroked his cock. He almost wanted James to tip him onto his back and push back into him, to take control, to show him some of that recklessness that made him such a threat on the track, but he didn't - James just stroked him, watching him, breathing unsteady breaths as if a combination of his hangover and the fact it was Niki made the situation difficult to believe.

Niki didn't last much longer. He could have, but frankly he didn't see a point to that - it wasn't a competition, after all. He came all over James's abdomen in a dizzying burst and James laughed breathlessly and said something about stamina but he didn't try to last much longer, either. He bucked his hips and he groaned and he came inside Niki, while Niki watched. He hadn't expected James to be any different in bed, behind closed doors, and he wasn't; he was just as arrogant, belligerent and larger than life as he knew him to be in a car. The change was that Niki appreciated those things more in the man than he did in the driver. 

Afterwards, he shifted, sat up until James's spent but still-hard cock was out of him and then went naked into the bathroom. James joined him and Niki was surprised by it, by how he walked right up behind him as he was standing at the sink and how he wrapped one arm around his waist from where he stood behind him. He watched in the mirror as James dropped his face to the crook of his neck and he pressed his mouth there, using his free hand to rub his softening cock between Niki's cheeks. Niki let him do it. James met his eyes in the mirror as he did. 

"You didn't think we'd finished, did you?" he said, against Niki's neck. 

He had to admit he'd thought exactly that. Apparently, he'd been wrong, but for once he didn't mind that at all. 

Three hours later, they drove back to London in Niki's terrible hired Ford Cortina, Niki in the driver's seat and James playing navigator. James said Niki drove like a pensioner and Niki told him he sounded like his wife, then James gave him a blowjob in a layby while Niki fumbled with the roadmap because it seemed James was a lot more talented at sex than he was at telling left from right and east from west. Niki said he should have known. James smiled and didn't deny it.

Then, once they arrived in London, they checked into two separate rooms in a hotel near the airport. James didn't even bother opening the door to his; he just followed Niki into his room instead and once the door was closed, James kissed him on the mouth. James started to undress him. Niki let him do it. They went to bed.

In the morning, they went their separate ways. But James was right: they weren't finished there. 

Niki never asked why he sent the invitation, but he's not sorry that he did.

\---

"You look well, James," Niki says. 

"You look fucking awful," James replies, but there's no real sting to it. He's said it before, and it's never had a sting.

"You can leave if it offends you."

"Do I look offended?"

"You look drunk."

James smiles widely. "Just a bit tipsy," he says.

James comes closer. He puts his hands on Niki's shoulders and it still feels familiar, like it did before the accident, when James could still stand to touch him. He remembers race weekends when Marlene stayed at home, sneaking into the McLaren trailer even though he knew it was a terrible, awful idea - he remembers James stripping out of his suit, right down to his bare skin, the flush in his cheeks and the smile on his face as Niki bent him over the worktop and had him there with his own suit pulled down to his knees. He remembers nights out that ended in nights in, hotels, James's place since Suzy was never there even before the divorce. He remembers sharing a bed in a roadside hotel when James's navigation skills failed them again, and an ill-advised night on a borrowed yacht in the Monte Carlo harbour. The accident changed that. 

"You know, I came to the hospital," James says. 

"I know," Niki replies. 

"I couldn't make myself go through the door," he says.

"I know," Niki replies.

"I felt responsible."

"I know."

"I didn't stop seeing you because of the scars." 

"I know." Niki smiles tightly. "But I think they didn't help." 

James puts one hand on Niki's scarred cheek, almost tentatively, as if touching him there might still hurt after all this time. He traces the scarred orbit of his eye with his fingertips. He was never able to do this before and Niki wonders if something's changed or if it's just the champagne behind the wheel because they tried once, after the crash, just after Niki won his second title, and James excused himself before they were even undressed. Niki understood - they were still friends but touching him like that was different with the scars. They're still friends now, nominally, on paper, but it's different.

Then James steps back. He unbuttons his shirt, which is already half unbuttoned. He unbuckles his belt and drops his trousers, and he's bare underneath. He almost looks the same as he used to, Niki thinks, though they're both older now and James has cut his hair much shorter than it ever used to be. It hasn't made him less attractive and Niki can't deny that, but he also knows his attraction to James was only ever half physical. He knows that attraction never went away. For eight years, he's pretended he doesn't think about him. They're not the same, but that's why Niki has always been fascinated.

When James touches his face, Niki closes his eyes. James's thumbs brush his eyelids. James presses his mouth to his scarred cheekbone. 

"I missed you, Niki," James says, and it sounds like he means it.

For once in his life, Niki doesn't say what he's thinking. He doesn't call him stupid. He doesn't call him an asshole. He doesn't say _James, I'm not the one who changed his mind_.

He says, "I missed you, too." He watches James light up with it. 

He knows that in the morning this will likely be gone again. It's not the scars that are the problem; what finished what there was between them was the guilt James felt. He's never managed to tell him not to feel it. In some ways, he believes he should; in other ways, he wishes they could both just let it go.

But, for now, he lets James kiss him, and he lets James undress him, and he lets James take him to the bed. He _has_ missed him, after all. That wasn't a lie.

For now, he can pretend it will never end at all.


End file.
